Survival
by Ariane-072
Summary: Thief. Assassin. Spellsword. Three things Nate was not born to be. Three things he has ended up as. Now he's in Skyrim, and things just went from bad to worse. But this Redguard is a survivor, calling on the ancient birthright of his race and the dragon soul within him. He will survive the same way he always has. By dint of more stubbornness than he knows what to do with. T
1. Chapter 1: Prisoner

_**ONE. PRISONER**_

I couldn't remember how I'd gotten onto the carriage or into binds. All I could recall was that after spending some time in Cyrodiil, I had tried to cross the border into Skyrim – legally of course – and it clearly hadn't gone according to plan.

This was certainly not the first time I had been bound and bundled into a carriage. That was actually how I'd left Hammerfell. I had also spent a lot of time in binds and in prison when I was in Cyrodiil. I'd been imprisoned briefly in Black Marsh during a 'business trip' for the Guild, had spent time in prison in Elsweyr, been convicted of a murder I didn't commit in Valenwood and Morrowind both. Now I was in Skyrim, and things were going from bad to worse.

Ulfric Stormcloak was in the carriage. Of course I knew about the rebellion – that was why I was headed for Skyrim in the first place – and obviously the Imperial soldiers who had arrested me thought I was a rebel as well. That couldn't be farther from the truth. Why they thought a Redguard such as myself would join a Nord rebellion, I had no idea, but there was no bounty on my head. I had served my time. It was the only explanation.

I tuned out Stormcloak and his follower, and largely ignored the horse thief, only paying attention when he mentioned Hammerfell and even then only briefly.

With harsh, beautiful Hammerfell on my mind, I sat in silence until the carriage stopped. That was when, resigned to my fate and not entirely certain that I deserved any less, I stood and followed the others off the carriage.

The horse thief was far less noble.

"Wait! We're not rebels!"

"Coward," I muttered, at the same time as the Stormcloak soldier told him to face his death with courage.

I sort of tuned out again, my mind now full of fantasies of days gone by. Memories, almost, but not quite. If they were memories, they were of an era now so many years past that people spoke of it as if it were a story made up to frighten children into obedience.

It was not remembered imaginings. I was vaguely familiar with the Nord legends but that was from speaking with a fellow thief in Cyrodiil, with whom I had discussed at length my plans to travel to Skyrim. Skyrim was his birthplace and homeland, and he, like all Nords, knew all the stories in great detail.

"Wait," one of the Imperials said. "Who are you?"

"Me?" I had an uncanny sense for when I was being addressed, but it surprised me that they even cared who I was.

"Yeah, you."

"Nate."

"Short for…?"

"Nate," I repeated. It wasn't short for anything. It was my name. "Nate of Stros M'Kai."

The Imperial stared at me a moment, then glanced at the Legate beside him. "He's not on the list. What now?"

"He goes to the block like the others."

"I'm sorry, Redguard," the first said. "I'll make sure your remains are returned to Hammerfell."

I shrugged, indifferent. I had no family left. There was nobody left in Hammerfell to miss me. The Alik'r assassins had killed them all trying to get to me after one of my more serious crimes. I hadn't been back in more years than I cared to count.

Head high, summoning all my Redguard pride, I followed the soldiers over to the block, falling back into the memories. I now recognized the visions as memories of this city over the centuries. Visions of dragons in the clouds and landing where now there were buildings dominated my mind's eye.

I was vaguely aware of General Tullius heckling Ulfric Stormcloak, but my focus was on the dragons I saw so vividly with my mind. The land remembered, even if the city and her people did not. Helgen was, of course, not always a city. Once in ages long past men and mer feared to settle in large groups for fear of making themselves easy targets for the dragons.

For a moment I thought that the roar was just another part of the land's memories, but then the people around me started wondering what it was. I knew, but said nothing. If I spoke of dragons now, I would be branded a madman.

"Next prisoner! The Redguard!"

The roar came again. I didn't move, rooted to the spot by a new vision. A large black dragon, wings spread, fire spewing from its mouth – and a Redguard in heavy armor I instantly recognized as Daedric, wielding twin one-handed swords made of an unfamiliar blue-white crystalline material, both pulsing with strong enchantments.

"I said, next prisoner!"

"All right, Redguard, to the block. Nice and easy. Any last words?"

"No, sir," I said. I had nothing to say that would not be met with ridicule. Call me prideful, but I wanted to face my death with dignity. I walked over to the block and knelt, placing my head against it without having to be pushed.

The headsman raised his axe. It took everything I had for me to stop myself from cringing. Then I heard the roar again.

"It's in the clouds!" someone yelled.

"Dragon!" someone else cried in panic.

The dragon landed on the tower I was staring at and looked me straight in the eye, staring into my soul.

'_Dovahkiin,'_ it said. Then it attacked.

* * *

**AN: Yes, I am using the same name in two stories, and in fact a very similar appearance [this Nate's skin is a few shades darker and his hair is very curly and kept in cornrows but other than that...], but personality-wise Skyrim Nate and Halo Nate are almost polar opposites.**

**Been ages since I played through the opening cutscene so please excuse any errors! Going to skip forward in time for the next chapter.**

**Please review!**

**Skyrim is not mine. Character and his choices/backstory are.**


	2. Chapter 2: The Memories of a City

_**TWO. THE MEMORIES OF A CITY**_

The Imperial soldier introduced himself as Hadvar and cut off my bindings, but I wasn't paying much attention to him. I nodded where appropriate and started looking around the keep for anything useful.

"Take whatever you need. There should be some armor and a sword in that chest over there," Hadvar told me. I nodded again and started rifling through a cupboard. There wasn't much in it. Some old clothes – better than what I was wearing now, but not by much – and a wooden bowl. I left the contents in there and moved towards a weapon rack, my eyes on an iron sword. Not the best weapon I'd ever used but it would do. I took it and buckled the sheath-belt around my waist, then moved on again.

True to Hadvar's word, the chest contained some light Imperial armor and another iron sword. I took everything, thinking I could sell one of the swords. I didn't actually strictly _need_ a weapon – I knew a few Destruction spells thanks to a Dunmer mage whose acquaintance I had made during my time in Morrowind – but I didn't like going into battle without one. These swords were a little blunt and not as well-balanced as they could have been, but they would do. Iron wasn't exactly the best material for holding a good edge anyway.

Hadvar noticed the way I assessed the blades. "You a smith?"

"Not really," I said. "I just know my way around a good weapon. I can forge a decent blade from iron, and know how to improve most any weapon, but that's it. Forging armor isn't my strong point."

"So what is it that you do? You were dressed too well when we captured you to be unemployed."

I wasn't sure what to tell him. If I admitted my affiliation with the Thieves Guild – formerly in Hammerfell, but I'd dealt with the Guild in nearly every province now since joining Cyrodiil's guild – then I would be admitting to being a criminal, and I had too much of an interest in surviving to do that. I had done a few jobs for the Morang Tong while in Morrowind and not gotten caught, but I wasn't a career assassin… and besides, that was illegal too.

I hadn't made an honest living since leaving Hammerfell. Back in Stros M'Kai I had nothing to do with any illegal activities until my store suddenly stopped selling any goods and my saved funds fast ran dry – I had started to fence goods for the Thieves Guild just to get by. But any Guild work had been a little something on the side until the authorities caught wind of it and hired the Alik'r assassins.

I had escaped by getting myself arrested by Imperial soldiers I knew were headed to Cyrodiil and had been in and out of prison ever since.

Now, my 'something on the side' was perfectly legal, sanctioned bounty hunting. I wasn't quite a mercenary, but I did mercenary work now and then.

"I'm a sellsword," I finally said. "A damned good one. Back in Cyrodiil, I was in high demand."

As I was putting on the armor – which did not fit me very well, it was nearly two sizes too small – Hadvar unexpectedly smiled at me. "Come to Skyrim for work, then?"

"You could say that." Riften, and the Thieves Guild, was my ultimate destination, though I wasn't about to complain about any mercenary work that came my way. I was good with my weapons and had not a septim to my name. The Imperial soldiers had confiscated all my gear and coin.

"Come on, let's move. We can't hide out here forever. That damned dragon…"

"Yeah," I agreed vaguely, paying more attention to the things the walls remembered. I saw workers placing the stones and cementing them into place with mortar made of mud and clay, laughing and joking in the bright winter sunlight. It might have been sunny, but this was Skyrim in winter, and so they were all dressed in thick, warm clothing.

It was a pleasant memory, one of hard manual labor. Honest work. Hard work, for sure, but the sort of work that resulted in a pleasant, satisfied kind of fatigue, and the muscle ache that went with it. In Hammerfell, the hard work had been different – as a merchant I had spent a lot of time loading and unloading wares – but it was certainly a feeling I could relate to.

The vision faded and with it went the satisfied feeling. It was replaced by a completely different feeling and a completely different vision. This city had seen battle on more than one occasion – as had most of the cities in Tamriel – and this vision was of one of those battles. The blood was nothing new. I was used to that. But this vision was different to most of the battles a place's memories had shown me. Chaos reigned, but fear was utterly absent.

This was more than the Nords' honor. Something was wrong with this picture. There was no fear on either side, and there were no Nords in the invading force. Not even a single Redguard. I saw a couple of Bretons but other than that the invaders were almost entirely mer. Dunmer, Altmer, Bosmer. An Orc here and there. A few Imperials rounded out the force.

It was a memory, but it wasn't a memory. These walls were remembering something that I was almost certain had never happened. Or at least, not in Helgen. Was it… perhaps… a vision of the future? Or a vision of what could be, now, had someone's decisions in the past been different?

I couldn't say for sure.

"Nate… Nate!"

The vision vanished. I realized Hadvar and I had stopped again.

"Where were you just now? You looked like you were miles away."

"I… I'm not sure," I admitted. "Sometimes a place shows me its memories, but what these walls just showed me… I don't think it happened."

"You've gone mad." Hadvar didn't mean the words he spoke. He was looking at me with a speculative expression. "What did you see?"

"Fighting. Nords trying to repel an invading force."

"Helgen has been invaded several times," Hadvar said. "What makes you think the walls are lying?"

"They're not lying… as such… perhaps I will explain later, but for now… I hear something, in the next room."

We fell silent, listening.

"Stormcloaks," said Hadvar. "Perhaps we can reason with them."

"I doubt it," I said, thinking of what I had heard about the rebellion. They weren't exactly people I wanted to try to reason with. "But if you want to try, I'll back you up."

The Imperial soldiers might have just tried to kill me, but Hadvar hadn't wanted to. He had helped me escape the dragon, and released me from my binds. I owed him this much.

Hadvar threw a switch that opened the gate-door-portcullis-whatever, then stepped through. I followed, a fire spell prepared in my left hand and my right hand on the hilt of my sword.

"Imperials!" one of the Stormcloaks shouted, and she and her companions readied their weapons and moved towards us.

"Hold up, we just want to talk!" Hadvar said quickly. I was already in the process of drawing my sword. These Stormcloaks did not want to talk.

"I'll kill you if I have to," I said, blasting a gout of flames at the floor in warning. They kept coming. I let go of the magicka I was holding and put my free hand on the hilt of my sword, hitting the Stormcloak woman's iron warhammer aside and countering with a swift jab. Then I spun around, sword up, swinging across her neck. She crumpled, and her head rolled away across the floor.

Hadvar was struggling a little, fighting two of them. I went for the one with the greatsword, a big Nord whose cuirass was straining against the hefty muscles of his chest and shoulders, and drew his attention away from my ally. He was a more effective fighter than the woman I had just killed, and met my every strike with a surprisingly swift parry – given the size of his blade, that surprised me. Large, two-handed weapons were slow to swing and could be unwieldy. This man was clearly an incredibly skilled swordsman.

I was no slouch myself. I had a natural aptitude for swordplay, thanks to my heritage, and like all Redguards, had trained with the blade from an early age. Even so, I found myself sweating and panting in very short order, and the Stormcloak managed to slice a bit of flesh off my shoulder.

He left himself open with that move and I gathered my strength, put both hands behind my blade, and ploughed it into his chest with all my weight behind it.

"Let me have your old tunic," Hadvar said. "It's a bit dirty but it will stop the bleeding at least until we can find a healing potion. Unless you know any Restoration spells?"

"Unfortunately not," I sighed. "I learned from a Destruction mage."

"Better than Conjuration," Hadvar said. "Do yourself a favor. If you want any respect from most Nords, avoid that School. We don't trust magic, as a whole, but Conjuration is the worst of the lot."

I smiled, showing brilliantly white, straight teeth. "I don't trust Conjuration either. I'm told that a careful, responsible mage will have no issues, but look what it did in the wrong hands. The Oblivion Crisis. And people get a little drunk on that much power…"

As we talked, we kept moving through the keep, until Hadvar held up one hand.

"Take a look around. They kept potions in here," a distinctly Nord voice said on the other side of a door.

"Stormcloaks. We need those supplies, Nate. Take them down and see what you can find. I'm right behind you."

I opened the door and slipped through, Hadvar in tow, and then drew my sword again, preparing the same flames spell as before. I set one Stormcloak on fire before they even noticed I was there, then finished her off with my sword, before setting my blade against a fellow Redguard – that was a surprise – who wielded twin war axes. I had to dispel the magicka again, so that I could block and parry effectively. It took both hands to be able to maintain a strong block.

And a strong block was my only advantage against my countryman. He, too, was good with his chosen weapons. And he had two of them, meaning he could strike quickly, but it also meant he couldn't block or parry easily. I worked my blade around one of his axes and swiftly sliced off his right hand, and from there, it was easy. One weapon each and only one of us able to block, I had every advantage I needed. I got my sword up under the head of the war axe and used that to rip it out of the man's hands, momentum flinging it back behind me as I brought my blade up above my head.

I swung downwards with all my strength, cleaving through the Redguard's collarbone and deep into his ribs. I saw the life leave his eyes, but he didn't crumple. He couldn't. My blade was stuck in his body and there was no way in the world I was going to be able to get it out. I dropped it and instead drew the other sword I had picked up.

There went the plan to sell the spare.

Hadvar had dealt with the other two Stormcloaks swiftly and efficiently, and we both started rooting around for supplies. I grabbed some food, a bottle of ale, and all the potions I could find, even though I knew I didn't actually need the energizing stamina potions. As a Redguard I had a lot of stamina to start with, and regained my strength very quickly.

"You ready to go?" Hadvar asked me.

"Yeah," I said. "Let's move."

* * *

**AN: I didn't jump forward as far as I was expecting to, but it didn't want to flow right if I jumped any farther. Hadvar and Nate have a lot in common, or so Hadvar thinks! They ****_could _****be good friends, if not for the fact that Nate's scruples are now almost non-existent... and like any lie, Nate ****_will_**** eventually get caught out.**

**Please review!**

**Skyrim isn't mine, canon characters are not mine, Nate and his decisions are.**


	3. Chapter 3: To Whiterun

_**THREE. TO WHITERUN**_

"My uncle is the blacksmith here," Hadvar said. "I'm still not sure why you didn't choose the Mage Stone, to be honest with you. You don't look like you need any divine intervention with your swordplay."

"The Warrior Stone will do for now," I said. "An acquaintance of mine, a Nord, told me everything he knows about the Stones. I have one in mind if I can find it, but I hear it's in a very remote, hard to access location, so it might be a while before I can find it."

"Come with me. Uncle Alvor will help you out. You know, you should join the Imperial Legion. We need more people like you."

I glanced at my boots. Hadvar didn't know what he was saying. "Maybe. Mercenary work pays better."

"Don't I know it!" Hadvar agreed. "Please consider it. I would be honored to fight alongside you again."

"I'll look into it," I said, half to appease him and half because I _really_ didn't like the Stormcloaks.

"Excellent. I'll be sure to put in a good word for you if I get back to Solitude before you do."

I thanked Hadvar and followed him towards the smithy, listening in on a few conversations in the street. An old woman was shouting something about seeing a dragon fly over Bleak Falls Barrow, and her son didn't believe her. I wanted to turn and say that dragons were real, they were back, and it was very possible that the woman had indeed just seen one, but I kept silent.

After a brief conversation Alvor led us inside and invited Hadvar and I to sit at the table, calling his wife a moment later.

"So, lad, now will you tell us how you came to be in Riverwood, looking like you lost a fight with a cave bear?"

"I was posted in Helgen," Hadvar said. "The city was just attacked – by a dragon!"

"A dragon? You've lost your mind, boy!"

"Husband," Alvor's wife said, "let him tell his story!"

"Yes, a dragon," Hadvar continued. "It destroyed the whole city. I don't know how many people made it out. I wouldn't have if not for my friend here."

_Friend,_ I thought. It had been far too long since anyone had called me _that_.

"Is it true?" Alvor asked me.

"I wish it wasn't," I said. "I don't know how we're supposed to fight dragons. But what I do know is that I can't just go back to Cyrodiil now."

"Can you do something for me, lad? I can't leave my forge, but someone needs to go to Whiterun and tell the Jarl what happened. Riverwood needs more guards in case the dragon decides to attack here."

"Sure thing," I said. "I have a map… thank you, Alvor, for your hospitality. Hadvar, perhaps I will see you again sometime."

"If you join the Legion you can bet on it," Hadvar said with a grin.

"Maybe," I said for the fifth time today. Getting up, I thanked Alvor again for his hospitality. He handed me some supplies and wouldn't take no for an answer, so I stuffed them in my pack along with the rest of my gear. Then I said my farewells and left.

Riverwood was a pleasant little town. The land mostly kept its memories to itself and those it did show me were recollections of pleasant happenings. Over by the Riverwood Trader, I saw a Nord woman and her sons stripping branches off a tree they had just felled. The mill I saw was new, the woman who tended it watching with pride as it cut its way through the first log its blade ever bit.

I ran through the town along the main road, then out, across the bridge. My map said Whiterun wasn't far out of my way, and when I was done there, I could possibly hire a carriage to take me to Riften. A carriage would save me a lot of time and a lot of running. Of course, that only worked if I had the gold. I hadn't counted what I had looted so far.

My journey to Whiterun was something of a non-event. I was attacked by a pair of wolves but killed them swiftly and easily. I took their pelts, and one of them even had a couple of gold pieces in its mouth. How the gold had gotten there was beyond me, but I didn't really care. Gold was gold no matter how it was gained. Or where it came from.

Judging by the weight of my coin purse, I probably had around seventy septims. That, I thought, was surely enough to get me anywhere in Skyrim. Provided I wasn't forced to spend it all on a meal and a bed. Or on bribing guards… the one at the gate to Whiterun approached me, weapon drawn.

"City's closed because of the dragon attack. Official business only."

All well and good, I thought, but closing a city off from trade wasn't exactly clever, even in troubled times. "Please let me pass," I said, putting on my best persuasive voice. "I was at Helgen."

"Fine, but we'll be watching you."

I acknowledged the guard with a nod and moved past him. Surprisingly, given that the city was supposedly 'closed', the gate yielded with a light push from one hand. Nobody had bothered to lock it. What was the point in gates and strong walls if it was easy to get in anyway?

Ignoring the citizens and guards within the city, I jogged past the blacksmith and through the marketplace, then went up a set of stairs. There was a big dead tree in the middle of the square, and a madman raving about Talos near a big statue of the Nord hero. I paid him no mind except to wonder that he hadn't been arrested by the Thalmor yet.

From here I could easily see the enormous fortress perched above, farther up the small mountain upon which Whiterun stood. I had to assume that was Dragonsreach.

I ran up the stairs, past a few guards. One guard commented that I needed a new blade, and I ruefully agreed. He pointed me to the Skyforge. "Eorlund Grey-Mane is the best blacksmith in Skyrim. There's a reason the Companions get their weapons from him and no one else."

Before the guard could launch into an explanation of the history of the Companions, as Nords so often did, I held up a hand. "I may not be from around here, but a former colleague of mine was raised in this city. I'll see about getting a new sword when I have the coin."

I had learned a very important lesson working closely with my Nord friend Wulfgar. Never _ever_ get a Nord started on the proud history of his people. Wulf could talk the ear off a donkey when he got going. Mostly the man was quiet, but if there was one thing he was passionate about, it was history. Especially Nord history.

I slipped through the door to the palace and, dropping to a more respectful walking pace, approached the Jarl. Or tried to. I was interrupted by his Housecarl, a lethal-looking Dunmer called Irileth.

"What is the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors!"

"Alvor sent me," I said. "A dragon attacked Helgen and-."

"You know about that?"

"I was there. In Helgen. Listen, when it was last seen-."

"The Jarl will want to speak with you right away. Approach."

I was a little irritated with Irileth and how she kept interrupting me. This was important. But I suspected the Jarl would let me speak, though my local Nord friend had warned me that Jarl Balgruuf the Greater was not an especially patient man.

As I approached, I listened to the Jarl and his steward discussing the issue of whether or not to send troops to Riverwood. I gathered that the Jarl of Falkreath was young and inexperienced and had a tendency to jump to conclusions, and that Proventus Avenicci did not want to risk any assumptions being made. Particularly one that Jarl Balgruuf looked distinctly unimpressed about – that Whiterun was preparing to join Ulfric Stormcloak.

I assumed, based on that, that while Balgruuf the Greater professed neutrality in the war, in truth, he was loyal to the Empire at heart. My years of being a merchant and later a fence and a thief had provided me with all the skills I needed to read people and convince them that my way was best.

Hopefully, after I was done here I could spend a night at the inn, and then continue on my way to Riften. I hadn't the gold to buy a horse, unfortunately. In fact I suspected I had no more gold on me than the town beggar.

I almost sighed, but that would have been unseemly in the presence of a Jarl. That a wealthy trader such as myself could have fallen so low… honestly, if I hadn't stumbled into that Imperial ambush I would still have every septim, but I couldn't bring myself to be angry with the Empire. Just frustrated with myself, and annoyed that fate could bring me almost to ruin yet again.

"Irileth tells me you were at Helgen?" the Jarl asked.

"I was, sir. Riverwood calls for the Jarl's aid. They have few capable fighters and no walls to speak of, so if a dragon attacks, they're finished."

"Did you see where the dragon was headed?"

"Last I saw it," I said with a deep frown, "it was headed towards Riverwood. The mad old lady that lives in the town claims she saw it fly over Bleak Falls Barrow, but I can't be sure she really saw the thing."

"Well done. You sought me out, on your own initiative. For that, I thank you. Here – take this, as a token of my esteem."

Balgruuf handed me an iron sword, which seemed like nothing special until I put a hand on it and felt the magic thrumming through the metal. An enchantment. One that would set anything it hit on fire. "Thank you, my Jarl."

"Now, if you will come with me, my court wizard Farengar has a task for you."

I could hardly say no to a Jarl. Balgruuf stood and started walking, and I dutifully followed him, suddenly nervous. I had a strong feeling that this would be no easy task.

* * *

**AN: Not happy with this AT ALL but I need to post something... urgh.**

**We will eventually get to the interesting part. Just can't do much until we've killed Mirmulnir [you know, the dragon you kill in Main Quest: Dragon Rising? Yeah that one]. Probably should have started this differently... le sigh. Can't go back now.**

**Skyrim and all canon characters/questlines are not mine. Main character and his decisions are.**


	4. Chapter 4: Bleak Falls Barrow

_**FOUR. BLEAK FALLS BARROW**_

This place again. I stood just outside the door of the barrow, dead bandits behind me – I had looted their bodies, laying claim to a set of studded armor and a set of heavy iron armor, and now wore the iron set – and who-knew-what waiting inside.

Hadvar had mentioned draugr when he had pointed the barrow out to me. Undead – ugh. They gave me the creeps. But at least these crypts were well known for containing items of great value. For those intrepid enough, and skilled enough, to reach the inner chambers, ancient Nordic barrows held vast fortunes.

And Farengar had said nothing about leaving the gold and other valuables alone. I figured the draugr wouldn't be all that pleased if I started taking things from their crypt, but I was skilled with a blade.

These ancient Nordic barrows contained not just draugr and riches. Those Nords who had built them were clever and had integrated some ingenious traps into their construction. I was going to have to be on my toes. If I walked softly, using all my skills as a thief, I wouldn't trigger any pressure plates, but anything triggered by a tripwire was still a hazard, and bone chimes might wake the draugr.

Plus there were the puzzle traps. Switches that set off traps if the puzzle wasn't solved correctly before the switch was thrown.

I took a deep breath and slipped through the door, into almost total darkness. I was tempted to cast a Candlelight spell to light my way, but if I could get through this barrow and avoid waking too many draugr I would. And a Candlelight spell would alert every single one of them to my presence.

So instead, I waited for my eyes to adjust, wishing right then that I was a Khajiit, or a Dunmer. Either one had far superior low-light vision to a Redguard. But my eyes _did_ adjust, and I could see well enough, soon, to make out the shape of a couple of dead rebels, and some dead-again draugr. Cautiously I searched the rebels for coin and gear, taking what I needed or could sell, and then moved towards the draugr.

I was still in desperate enough need of coin that, despite my distaste and wariness, I took some bone dust and a bit of gold off each, and ten arrows from one of them. These arrows were not particularly lethal, but they were better than what I already carried, so they would serve me well until I could find, or buy, some glass… or better, ebony. Best would be Daedric but those were rarer than hen's teeth.

Before I left the room I accidentally brushed up against a wall and a vision invaded my consciousness.

"_I don't know, Arvel. I mean this place is-."_

"_Quiet, idiot, the Claw is the key and beyond the puzzle door, untold riches await us. That stupid Lucan Valerius has no idea of the true value of this thing."_

"_But the draugr-."_

"_Shut your trap, unless you want to wake them!"_

_The three bandits, including the one whose pack clearly carried the weight of something heavy and very valuable, and who the other two were referring to as Arvel, fell briefly silent, then started violently when two sarcophagi opened with a _thump _and the draugr inside stepped out._

_The fight was quick and bloody. Arvel held his own but the other two fell quickly to the ancient rage of the undead. Briefly the fellow had to fight off two, before he managed to behead the first – seemingly the simplest way to 'kill' them – and then maim the other badly enough that it fell to its knees. From there the task of beheading it was simple for the skilled swordmage, who blasted it with a fireball for good measure._

I blinked a few times as the vision faded, stunned by the force with which it had assaulted my mind. I took a moment to regain my composure, before cautiously pressing on, careful now not to touch anything I didn't have to. I did search a few urns and every chest I came to, but those seemed safe… and held gold, jewels, and potions inside, plus the occasional useful item such as a pair of leather boots here, iron gauntlets there. Even a shield.

I moved silently, made slow by my caution, but I wasn't sure if I would meet draugr the moment I made the slightest sound, or whether the undead that had not died again in the first room were interred farther in. It didn't really matter that much. Farengar had said the Dragonstone was most likely in the main chamber. I would be encountering a couple of awakened draugr no matter what I did. But the things still gave me the creeps.

"Is someone there? Help!"

I recognized the voice from the vision. Arvel. He had something called a Claw which seemed to be a key to a puzzle door. A puzzle door which, I had a feeling, would bar my way into the main chamber.

"Get me down! Somebody help!"

Dropping all pretense of stealth – but still moving very quietly, a thief's habit if ever there was such a thing – I set about looking for a way to get to this Arvel fellow. I needed that Claw.

Soon I entered a chamber filled with spiderwebs and massive egg sacs. Frostbite spider. A big one. I couldn't see it immediately but I could see Arvel trapped in thick, strong web strands, so I started towards him. Then the spider dropped down in front of me and I briefly froze, before slowly approaching it. It attacked, but I was ready, dodging huge fangs dripping with lethal venom. My blades made a frightful amount of noise against its hard carapace, but I battered away, wishing they were sharper and of better quality metal. I swiftly slipped underneath the beast, seeking a joint in its hard natural armor, but before I could find one it moved fast. So fast I had no time to respond, no time to throw up a blade. One of its fangs pierced my left bicep. I felt the venom in my system almost instantly, but I fought on valiantly.

I would not die in this place. If I paused to down an antidote to the venom, I would surely perish. The spider had to die first.

I scrambled up its leg, using the long stiff hairs as handholds, and considered what to do next. The spider was bucking and struggling so much already I knew I needed to hang on with at least one hand if I hoped to stay on its back long enough to work a blade between its head plating and its back plating.

I managed to settle myself into position and, with a fistful of spider hair in one hand and a blade in the other, positioned the tip of my weapon above the neck joint. Then I summoned all my strength and forced my blade through the join in the armor, into the spider's head. It instantly stopped fighting to get me off and dropped to the floor, stone cold dead.

I slid off its back and fished a potion out of my pack, throwing it back in one huge gulp and fighting the urge to gag at its unpleasant flavor. Soon I felt the venom's effects on my body fade. I sheathed my sword and approached the trapped Arvel.

"Where is the Claw?"

"What Claw?" Arvel stared at me with wide-eyed, and very fake, innocence.

"Should I just walk away and leave you there to starve, then?"

"Ohh, the _Golden_ Claw! Yes, yes, I have the claw. I know how it works, too! I know how to get past the puzzle door with the rings and the traps. All you have to do is cut me down, and I'll show you!"

I smelled a rat. "Give me the Claw first."

"Do I _look_ like I can move? Cut me down, and then we can talk."

I sighed. I didn't have much choice. I could either kill him and _then_ cut him free, or cut him free and see if he dared cross me. It didn't take me long to decide I wasn't quite as cold-blooded as my past would have a man believe. I was going to give the bandit a chance. Quickly and efficiently I sliced through the thick strands of spiderweb, and when I cut the last strand, Arvel dropped to his knees.

"Foolish Redguard," he muttered as he was getting up. I swung my blade; he really _was_ that stupid. My weapon got stuck in his neck. I wrenched it free then stepped over Arvel as he bled out onto the floor, taking everything I thought would be useful – Claw included.

The Claw had been stolen from Lucan Valerius in Riverwood. When I was through with it, I decided I would return it. What use could I possibly have for a thing like this? I was never going to set foot in this barrow again. I therefore had no need for the key to the puzzle door.

I looked the Claw over. It was solid gold and quite heavy, and inlaid into the palm were three symbols. I wondered if that was the solution to the puzzle door. Wulf had said it wasn't hard to work out the puzzles, because the ancient Nords had left the solutions nearby for those clever enough to look.

I made my way through the barrow, throwing switches here and there. I easily solved a puzzle switch, looted more gold and jewels, and finally found myself facing what I could only describe as a puzzle door, with four keyholes to fit the Claw's talons exactly, and three rings that made up the puzzle. I moved the rings until the symbols matched what was on the Claw, then fitted it into the lock and turned.

The rings suddenly moved so that the symbols all matched, and then the door started to slowly slide open. As soon as it was far enough open that I could get through, I did. I didn't want to spend any more time in this damn crypt than I really had to.

But I made the mistake of touching a wall.

_The crypt was new, the sarcophagus only newly occupied. It was still a place where the living would occasionally tread, though the dead were not quite as dead as perhaps they should have been, for right now, while a living man tended the place and kept the candles lit and offerings fresh, tens or even hundreds of mummified bodies prostrated themselves in an almost reverent ritual in front of the large sarcophagus, beyond which was a wall._

_Power flowed from the wall. It had runes on it which I could not read, but I could feel massive amounts of magical energy. Or perhaps not _magical _energy. It seemed older, and more frightening, than any magic I was familiar with._

As I moved through the chamber the vision dissipated. I stepped between two draugr, and they faded into nothingness.

I was surprised not to have come up against any draugr so far, with the sheer number of them in the vision, but figured that owed more to my stealth skill than to any lack of undead in the crypt.

I felt drawn to that wall. If I was honest with myself it frightened me almost as much as the draugr did, though I could not stay away. I approached carefully, trying as I did so not to get too close to the large sarcophagus or the chest beside it.

Power flowed from the wall into me, and with it, a word. _Fus_. Force. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do with that, but decided, with a shrug, to deal with that mystery later. I still had a Dragonstone to find.

As I turned away from the Wall, and the runes that I could suddenly, inexplicably read, the sarcophagus opened and something stepped out.

"By the Divines," I cursed. I had heard about such monsters. That was a Death Overlord. And I? I was finished. I couldn't grab the Dragonstone and run, for I could see that I was going to have to kill the draugr – well, kill it again – to even get my hands on the thing. I couldn't see how I could possibly fight such a thing.

"_Fus… ro dah!"_ it shouted, and somehow, that shout turned into a massive physical push. It sent me flying back into the Word Wall. I got back to my feet, shook my head hard to regain my bearings, and then decided that if I was going to die in here, I was taking that Death Overlord to its final rest.

With sword in one hand and flames spell in the other, I fought, dodging and swinging and burning. I swiftly ran out of magicka, but I still had my sword… and that shield I had picked up was slung across my back. I reached back for that and, just in time, managed to bring it in front of me and block a heavy blow from the thing's greatsword.

"_Fus…"_

"Not on MY watch!" I bellowed, spinning around, sword outstretched, to decapitate the thing with a completely unnecessary flourish.

Giddy with relief at my own survival, I took everything of use – some gold, some bone meal, the Dragonstone, and the draugr's enchanted greatsword – and then looted the chest, again taking everything I could use or sell. Then I turned around and sat down with my back against the chest, panting.

I would recover my strength soon, and then I would get the hell out of here, return the Claw to Lucan, and get the Dragonstone back to Farengar and be done with it. Soon, I was going to Riften, and when I caught up with the Thieves Guild, I was going to work my way back to wealth. Granted, it wasn't exactly an honest way of gaining wealth, but there wasn't much gold in honesty.

At least I finally had enough gold to buy a better sword. Perhaps some better armor while I was at it. Or perhaps I would buy a horse.

With thoughts of untold riches in my mind, I got back to my feet and started searching for a way out that wouldn't involve sneaking back past all those sleeping draugr. I quickly found a secret passage – as a thief I have a knack for these things – and made my way out to the sweet, cold Skyrim wilderness.

* * *

**AN: Merhhh. Better than the previous three chapters but I'm still not happy. The sooner we get to Riften, the better.**

**I share Nate's thoughts about the draugr. I don't find them much more than a minor annoyance, combat-wise. Haven't been killed by them in months. But I still don't like them. Icky things. Mummified flesh and reanimated bones and ugh.**

**I have to thank the guest reviewer who reminded me to be a bit kinder to myself and look at this all as an opportunity to explore Nate's backstory. I will probably have a 'fluff' chapter soon in which not much actually happens but Nate looks back over his past in a bit more detail... may even include a flashback of when the Alik'r came after him if anyone is interested?**

**As per usual, Nate and his choices are mine, but anything from the game is not.**


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